While the Children Date, the Parents will Drink
by penpenhooray
Summary: Scorpius and Rose are a budding couple, much to the horror of their fathers. Ron and Draco don't get along, but they can agree on one thing: neither of them likes the situation, and booze might just solve the problem. Hermione and Astoria just which their husbands would stop overreacting.


"I'm blaming you for this, you know."

"Me? I'm not happy about this either, Malfoy."

To say that the tension in the West wing study of Malfoy Manor was thick would have been an understatement. The two men were seated across from each other, one sitting stiffly in his chair while the other was gripping a tumbler of firewhiskey with enough force, it was a miracle that it didn't break.

There was only one reason that Ron Weasley would ever willingly step foot in Malfoy Manor. And that reason was in the garden below the study window.

Rose and Scorpius were walking hand in hand through the Malfoy gardens (though Ron would have described it more as a labyrinth). Every so often they would whisper sweet nothings in each other's ear.

"Disgusting…" Draco shook his head, downing his drink in one go.

"Don't be rude, Malfoy." Ron huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh, don't pretend that the sight of them doesn't make you sick to your stomach."

"Of course it does!" Ron rolled his eyes, "I was talking about the fact that your hogging all the booze."

"Are you expecting me to share my liquor cabinet with you?"

"Are you expecting me to deal with this sober?"

"…fair point." Draco waved his wand, summoning another tumbler and the decanter with the amber liquid. "Though I doubt this will be enough."

"I know you Malfoy, this won't be the only bit you've got."

—

Hermione Weasley was well aware that her husband was not perfect. He could be forgetful, he sometimes had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, he was stubborn (if not thickheaded). But he usually wasn't late. Sure, there were times in which Ron would have to work late, but he usually let Hermione know if he would be running late.

Working late for the Aurors was one thing. Being late from dropping off their daughter at her boyfriend's house was another. But there really was nothing for it, Hermione was going to have to go and fetch her husband from Malfoy Manor.

Now Hermione didn't like the old Manor any more than Ron did (she still had the scars to prove it), but she didn't have any qualms with flooing over to the Manor to see what was keeping her husband.

As Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into the main hall, she could see Astoria Malfoy seated on the chaise lounge, reading what appeared to be an antique book.

"They're in the study." Astoria murmered, not looking up from her book, "But I really wouldn't go in there."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Why is that?"

Astoria didn't answer her. Instead the younger woman closed her book, "Sparkie!"

With a crack, a House-elf appeared by Astoria, "Yes, Misses?"

"Can you tell Mrs. Weasley what Master is doing with Mister Weasley?"

The House-elf turned to Hermione, batlike ears twitching slightly, "Master be asking Sparkie for more whiskey, he and Mister Wheezey keep crying about the babies."

Hermione frowned, "Babies?"

Astoria rolled her eyes, "Our children. And before you get too worked up about Sparkie, we do pay him. Don't we Sparkie?"

"Yes, Misses! Five whole Galleons!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "A week?"

"A day." Astoria smirked, "I can practically see those goodie-two-shoes dancing in your head. But no matter how much yarn he buys, he'll never run out of money."

"Yarn?"

"He likes to knit."

That caused Hermione to snort (not her most attractive moment). "Alright then." She smiled, "I take it your husband isn't exactly pleased?"

"Perhaps not, but then again, Draco isn't the easiest person to please." Astoria smiled softly, "Sparkie, could you fetch some glasses and a bottle of Viognier for Mrs. Weasley and I?"

"Oh no." Hermione shook her head, "I couldn't possibly…"

"Chardonnay then? Or perhaps Syrah, to go with the Black Forest Cake in the kitchen. Honestly, I'm not too picky, just as long as our husbands have left _some_ liquor for us."

"Are we bemoaning our dating children as well?"

"Merlin no, we're bemoaning our overdramatic husbands."


End file.
